


Twisted Loyalty

by vierasfics



Category: Teen Titans - All Media Types, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Teen Titans (Animated Series) Setting, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Conditioning, Drowning, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Jeon Jungkook is a Little Shit, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope is a Good Friend, Kim Taehyung | V is Trying his Best, M/M, Min Yoongi | Suga is Bad at Feelings, Min Yoongi | Suga-centric, Minor Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Park Jimin is a Ray of Sunshine (BTS), Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Victim Blaming, eventually tho lol there's a lot of hurt and not a lot of comfort yet, more like, more or less, my setting makes no sense don't try to understand it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vierasfics/pseuds/vierasfics
Summary: She scans over his documents, her mouth twisted in some form of sneer. Finally, her eyes look up at him, not a trace of welcome in them. “In this institution we value loyalty, Min Yoongi-ssi.” She pauses. Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on the desk, his back straight. “A quality that you severely lack.”Ah, there it is, the flare up of pain on his heart. She’s right, of course, no matter if it stings to hear it; he’s a traitor, he will always be.H̶e̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶s̶e̶n̶t̶i̶m̶e̶n̶t̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶h̶a̶r̶d̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶l̶e̶v̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶f̶a̶i̶l̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶s̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶.̶or Yoongi was forced to leave his team behind, and he's having trouble coming back
Relationships: Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga, Min Yoongi | Suga & Everyone, Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin
Comments: 23
Kudos: 43





	1. Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> Based on that Teen Titans episode when Slade forces Robin to be his apprentice, except it's not Robin (and it's not really Slade, entirely, anyway, though I will be probably too lazy to change his name or the team's) and he doesn't get out, for a long while.

The weight of the blade is familiar in his hand. It used to make his skin crawl to wield it, but it has become habit like so many other things. He walks across the edge of the roof without making a sound, until his fingers find the latch and open it. The mission is simple; get in, kill the senator, get out, don’t be seen, don’t get caught. It has gotten to the point Master only has to slide a file his way for him to understand what he wants. There is a sense of safety in knowing, in not wearing down his patience.

Yoongi slips inside like a shadow. He moves with practiced steps to avoid the cameras, until he can press his ear against the bedroom door.

He hears conversation.

“…think that he’s coming? All this security seems so overblown. _”_ He’s only heard him a couple of times, through footage, but he can recognize the drawn out, sleepy voice of his target. He shouldn’t be awake at all. It can only mean one thing.

“Trust us. We know how he operates. We know how dangerous he is _.”_

Even now, even after so long, Seokjin’s voice makes his chest constrict painfully. They’re here. Somehow, they’ve gotten intel on his Master’s plans.

Yoongi appreciates the few times he can see their faces again, but he does not like it when it is on a mission.

He retraces his steps until he’s out of earshot, and pushes the button on the communicator he has on his right ear. “Master,” he calls in, no longer hesitant on what he’s supposed to do when finding unexpected information, “the Titans are here.”

It’s almost comforting how quickly he gets a response. A grunt of acknowledgement, followed by “pity. I was hoping this could be under the table business. I’ll send reinforcements your way. Once they’re distracted, dispose of the target.”

He nods despite no one being there to see him. “Understood.”

Yoongi climbs up out the window, walking across the thin line of concrete on the outside of the building. No need to pick the lock on the door if breaking the window will be more effective. Plus, he doesn’t want to be on Seokjin’s line of sight if he runs off to help his teammates.

He waits. Inside it is silent. The senator is possibly asleep now, but Seokjin is no doubt still alert, he knows him well enough to be sure of it.

He also knows he might not leave him alone, might be too smart to be fooled by an upfront attack. He’s not looking forward to fighting him.

It isn’t the noise of commotion that he was expecting that comes. Instead, he hears Seokjin's voice answering what is most likely a distress call. “You sure you can handle it?” A pause. “Alright, be careful.”

He hears him sigh. “Dammit, I hate staying behind.”

Like he thought, he’s remaining. He almost expresses his own frustration, but he can’t waste a second. Seokjin will wake up his target, and the fight will get a lot harder.

So Yoongi shoots up his grappling hook on top of the window, jumps away from the building and swings his momentum against the glass.

It shatters on impact. He rolls on the ground once before he can stand up. Beside him, he hears the loud curse Seokjin lets out as the shards spray on part of his arm. The sheets on the bed rustle, the figure on them no doubt shooting up in surprise. Yoongi is already turning to throw the knife, but he’s not fast enough. Seokjin grips his wrist and bends it backwards. “Run!” he shouts to the man on the bed.

Not unlike Yoongi, though, he’s too slow. Yoongi kicks Seokjin's foot behind him, to make him lose balance, enough for him to draw the gun on his hip unimpeded. He shoots just as Seokjin's elbow connects with the side of his torso, and the bullet sinks on his target’s leg (he missed, _unnaccaptable_ ). The senator cries out, stumbles out of bed towards the window —wrong direction—, and Seokjin grabs his other wrist to attempt to wrestle the weapon out of him.

He’s already taken too long. His Master will not be happy.

“ _Drop it,_ Yoongi,” Seokjin says, with venom in his voice, that authoritativeness he’s always had. Yoongi is for a second transported to another time, to when he was his underling and his orders seemed motherly rather than hateful.

In a way, he does as he says. He slithers his hand out of his grip by letting go of the gun, and in the time he knows he’s catching it, he throws a burst of energy out of his hand, into the senator’s feet. The man yells, but it’s barely heard over the cement cracking, a portion of the room crumbling. Seokjin’s pushes him aside angrily, and he barely manages not to fall. Seokjin stretches out his arm to try to reach his target’s hand, but it’s too late.

Yoongi watches the senator fall with no sense of satisfaction.

He’s already moving to get out, jumping the bed swiftly to reach the door, when he hears Seokjin shout behind him. A gunshot.

He staggers, a surprised whine leaving his lips. Blood splatters in front of him. The adrenaline doesn’t quite allow him to realize what’s happened, he just stumbles out of the room, like his legs don’t quite work the same anymore. His ears are ringing, but he thinks he hears more firing. A figure pulls him by his hand towards cover, and he only lets him when he catches a glimpse of black, recognizing this is part of his Master’s reinforcements. His Master, he has to report—

He suddenly realizes there’s static on his communicator, a familiar voice demanding he answers. He tries to lift his hand, but the moment he stops applying pressure to the wound (wound?) the pain flares up. He wheezes again, throws his weight to the nearby wall.

Behind him, he hears a voice, familiar. “I got him, chief. He got shot.”

Shot? Who got—?

Oh. He did.

He glances down at his fingers, covered in crimson, at the obvious injury on the side of his torso. Seokjin shot him, with the gun he left behind because he thought that he— that he wouldn’t—

He shot him. Seokjin shot him. He suddenly wants to retch, wants to vomit out his heart because _Seokjin_ just shot him—

“Yoongi!” a stern voice, impatient. He’s dizzied, someone is shaking his shoulder. He makes a pained sound he meant as acknowledgement, but it’s not until he can find the eye contact that Fisk speaks again. “Did you get him?”

For a second he’s not even sure what he’s asking, then he remembers why he was here in the first place. He nods, feeling strangely detached from the movement.

Fisk presses his hand to his ear again, says something that he doesn’t hear.

* * *

“You lost focus.”

Yoongi forces himself not to cringe, utilizing all of his energy to remain still as he’s meant to. The bleeding has stopped by now, held back by stitches and bandages, which is very good because Yoongi doesn’t think he can see red again without remembering why he got hurt in the first place. Still, his torso isn’t entirely agreeable as he stands, but he’s been here long enough to know that if he can at least limp, he has to present his report.

His Master eyes him carefully. Yoongi keeps his eyes trained to the ground.

“I’ve seen you walk off far worse, but you lost focus now.”

Ah, he wants an explanation. Yoongi isn’t sure he can give one. An excuse wouldn’t suffice, dismissing it would be disrespectful, and lying has always faired worse than admitting a weakness.

“I—” he stammers out, because he doesn’t want his Master to think he’s ignoring him, but he doesn’t quite know what to say. “I am sorry, sir, I, ah… I didn’t expect—” His voice cracks. Shit. He shuts his eyes. _Weak._ “Seokjin had never… sh-shot me before. None of them had.”

None of them had ever displayed deadly force. He’d thought— perhaps there was still some remaining attachment to him, even if fickle. He had probably only deluded himself; he has enough scars to know they’re not afraid to hurt him at all, not anymore, not afraid to break his bones, to hit him so hard on the chest he loses his air. The times when they tried to convince him to stop the fighting have ceased, and is not like Yoongi _liked_ to attack when they were begging him not to, but—

~~But, does it mean they’ve given up on him?~~

“I see,” suddenly the man’s voice is much to close to his liking, and he almost flinches, startled. Instead, he just dares to look at him, just below the eyes, to the chin, trying not to tremble. He doesn’t think he’s made a huge mistake, his Master might be lenient, but there’s no doubt he will rub salt in the wound. “You still hold fantasies about them _not_ hating you.”

His throat closes up, his lip twitches. He wants to argue that they _don’t,_ like he used to before, but he’s grown past it by now. There is no point, he never wins when he talks back. At first, the resignation felt like a choice, like he still believed that his old friends didn’t hate him —or, at least, that they wouldn’t if they knew he was doing all of this for them—, and he was just keeping his rebellious thoughts private.

But now, he’s not so sure himself.

Often the hopeful emotions in his heart get drowned out by all of the things his Master has said to him over the years, only this time he is saying them to himself.

_It was only a matter of time before they grew tired of you, anyway._

_You really think your intentions matter when there is so much blood on your hands?_

_They will never take you back, and even if they did, you would only hurt them. It’s all you know how to do._

_How noble of you to try to play the victim, when your weakness is the only reason you’re here._

_They never even loved you, Apprentice. They just used you._

So he doesn’t argue anymore.

Instead, he looks away in shame, because it’s true. Sometimes, when his Master allows him a scrap of free time, he walks above rooftops and follows his old team. He perches above trees or emergency staircases, and watches them from afar. He watches Jungkook shout about trivial things, the way that Jimin laughs into his own hand. Yoongi used to take it on his own, used to tell him his smile was too pretty to be covered like that, and Jimin used to blush and punch his shoulder, telling him to _stooop, Yoongi-hyung._ He watches them talk, and laugh, and argue, and his skin itches with longing the more he sees, the more he realizes they're moving on without him. But he doesn’t get the things he wants; he’s accepted it.

“Apprentice,” it’s said with a hint of pity behind it, managing to feel worse than outright hostility. His Master places a gentle hand on his cheek, and Yoongi doesn’t feel guilty about finding the gesture comforting, not anymore. “When will you learn? Here you are, torturing yourself for people who want you dead.”

He can’t help the flinch this time. His chest constricts, and he tries to disprove the idea somehow in his mind, but finds nothing convincing. They do want him dead. They do.

“You need to move on. If they cared about you, you wouldn’t be here anymore.”

He parts his lips, the words just on the tip of his tongue. _That’s not fair. They don’t know why I’m really here; they think I left willingly._ But there’s no point, there’s not. He isn’t even looking to win the argument (he never will), he just wants his Master to _stop._

He likes to do this often, ever since he found out Yoongi had started taking the punches without fighting back, likes to push all of his buttons to see if he will snap. He’s learned his Master takes pleasure in punishing him for misbehaviors.

He could just do it if he felt like it for no reason, but he’s fair. He waits for Yoongi to mess up, ~~and he messes up a lot.~~ Then, when he’s weakened and gasping for air, he asks if he wants him to kill one of his former friends instead. He’s ashamed he’s faltered more than once, when his chest burns so much he can't so much as form a coherent thought, that he’s considered saying _yes, please, just kill them, I can’t take anymore._ But he never has, and his Master doesn’t miss an opportunity to mock him for it: here he is, taking an unnecessary punishment to protect people that would pay to watch him right now, delirious and on the brink of death.

He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t think he can take a correction right now, not after Seokjin—

“I’m sorry, Master,” is what he says, finally, voice wavering a little. “It won’t happen again.”

A chuckle. The hand on his cheek is gone, and he tries not to feel bad about it. “It will, but that’s okay. I will be here to set you straight. Dismissed.”

When he gets to his quarters, Yoongi slides to the floor of the bathroom and silently sobs into his arms until he’s lightheaded.


	2. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weirdly the second chapter was harder to write than the first, i didn't know where to take it from a lot of options. it got away from me a bit (and i probably should've made it longer and more concise lol), but hey, a chapter's a chapter am i rite

The wound still stings when he presses his fingers on it. It looks like an ugly mess, with the stitches holding it together like a piece of cloth instead of skin. Yoongi knows he shouldn’t be taking off the bandage this soon, but for some morbid reason he wanted to see it closely, and so he’s sitting in front of the mirror, poking at it with clinical curiosity.

He finds it ironic that the first time he got shot, it was Seokjin who took care of him.

The thought of it alone sends a flood of memories crashing into him. Seokjin was the one who got him into the team in the first place, he could have just sent him to rot in a jailcell after Yoongi snuck inside his house and tried to steal some of his mother’s jewels, and his life would’ve been over at only fifteen, but instead he saw potential. People would stare at him, would talk in hushed voices whenever he left a room. He was always the sore spot, the one who came from a _bad_ background, the street rat. ~~And they didn’t even know about his mother~~. But Seokjin— Seokjin defended him, brought him his dinner to his room and ate with him when Yoongi didn’t want to deal with it, insisted on ruffling his hair even though the youngest said it was embarrassing—

He clutches the sheets of the bed, willing himself not to cry this early. How stupid he was, to let something as trivial as embarrassment make him reject the affection, now his skin prickles form lack of contact and he wishes with childlike fervor his hyung was here to patch up his wounds for him, except— expect the gunshot was from—

Yoongi rubs at his own eyes violently. Weakness is not tolerated. Is he purposely seeking to be corrected first thing in the morning?

~~Perhaps. Perhaps it would help make him feel less numb.~~

He walks out of his room and leaves the thoughts resting on the mirror.

* * *

It’s rare when Yoongi feels grateful to his Master. Today is one of those days.

He doesn’t feel guilty about the feeling anymore, doesn’t rationalize that he shouldn’t see it as kindness when his Master is the reason he’s suffering in the first place, instead he just bows his head and accepts this is the way things are.

Today, he’s grateful because he’s not made to fight. Possibly because he’s injured, which is a rare mercy, he’s just asked to stand as backup and scout nearby areas as his Master finishes a deal.

He’s silent when he’s called back to his side, stepping over the railing as to remain above them, unseen, when he hears part of the conversation. “…going to tell me?”

His Master’s contact pauses for a moment, and then seems to remember what he was about to say. “Ah, yes, about the new Titan kid. Looks like they finally replaced your little toy.”

_No._

There’s a reply, but Yoongi doesn’t hear it. His body has frozen completely, the breath stolen from his lungs. No, they couldn’t have— they wouldn’t—

He stumbles backwards into a pillar, uncaring and unaware that he’s definitely alerted them both of his presence. They’ve replaced him. They’ve _replaced_ him…

“Apprentice,” he feels a hand, forceful, closing on his arm, and he lets out a small noise of protest, only then realizing how loudly and irregular he’s breathing. “ _Stop._ ”

It’s said like an order, and almost by instinct he tenses all of the muscles of his body, trying, ~~and failing,~~ to put himself together. “They… replaced me,” he manages to get out, surprised at how even and monotone he sounds despite being unable to catch his breath.

“Yes,” his Master says, almost bored. “Although, well, I would call it more of an upgrade.”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He’s used to that kind of snide remarks, but nevertheless his lungs squeeze against his heart and he sobs, losing whatever flimsy grip he had on his own panic. His Master is right. He doesn’t even _know_ the kid, but they’re no doubt better than him in every way. They’re probably not as awkward as he was, unable to show them how much he loved them, how grateful he was to have them. Their mother probably wanted them, unlike Yoongi’s, they’re not wasteful like he was, existing despite the fact no one would have missed him if he’d died. They don’t stick out like a piece that will never fit in, they’re not a poison festering and hurting everyone they love—

Suddenly, his arm is bent at a horrible angle behind him. He makes a chocked sound, his vision blurring and turning black on the edges like charcoal. “I thought I told you,” a hiss, right behind his ear, “to stop.”

Yoongi shuts his eyes tightly, bites at his own lip like stopping his own gasps is going to help ease the panic. It doesn’t. He can’t stop, can’t stop trembling like a leaf. He can’t do anything right, nothing at all. No wonder he’s failed them, keeps failing them, if he can’t even do this _one_ thing. “I’m s-sorry,” barely coherent at all, his chest falls and rises and tries to find enough air to form words, “’m sorry, I’m sorry’msorrysorry…”

“Shut the _fuck_ up.”

His jaw clicks shut.

His Master grabs him by the front of his throat, nails digging in without care, and the darkness finally swallows him whole.


	3. Drowned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains torture, so, uh, be aware of that
> 
> every time i want to make the chapter go on longer but then i don't want to update in five weeks so i guess y'all are just gonna live with this short ass snipets fhskjf

His consciousness returns slowly, with blurry lines that struggle to take shape, and it doesn’t help that the only thing his eyes seem to able to grab is shapeless water. Cold sweat is all across his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. It takes him a few seconds to understand where he is, first only realizing he’s sitting on a chair, and then, when he attempts to move his arms, he takes note of the tight, uncomfortable feeling on his wrists.

He feels nausea settling on his stomach. That means—

“Finally back?” his Master’s voice sounds as if it’s travelling through a liquid. Yoongi can’t see him so much as feel his suffocating presence behind him. Suddenly he’s all too aware that the water he was staring at was in a familiar container, right in front of him, big enough to be over chest height.

A hand closes around the hair on the back of his neck, and Yoongi can’t help the slight hitch of his shoulders, the way his legs kick uselessly. “Wait— wait, waitwait… I’m sorry, Master, please—”

He’s not honored with a response, or a pause. The hand pushes him forward until his head is submerged entirely. It’s _cold,_ icy enough to prickle his skin, but that’s hardly the worst of his problems. He wasn’t prepared, didn’t take in enough air —not that it matters—, and barely a few seconds pass before he feels the all too familiar burn of lack of oxygen.

It always lasts just a little longer he thought he could take, just as he’s sure he’s about to die, the hand relents, and pulls him out of the water. Yoongi gasps, ugly and desperate, somehow only managing to make himself feel more disoriented.

“Tell me what you did wrong.”

He struggles to form coherent thoughts with how his lungs are grasping at the edge of the cliff. “I— I d-disobeyed your orders,” his throat is raspy, and he’s unable to keep his tone steady in between inhales, “embarrassed y-you… in front of your… associate. Showed… weakness.”

“Hm,” his Master tilts his head, examining him in an almost sympathetic expression. His hand raises up and takes some of Yoongi’s hair off his face, gently. He hates how his stomach curls in appreciation, how much it comforts him, how much he wants more. “Perhaps I’ve been a little harsh on you…”

Yoongi shifts his gaze slightly, daring to sneak a small, wary peek at his Master.

“I’ll tell you what, if you want to avoid this needless correction, I can…” a smirk starts to form on his face. Yoongi can just see the edge of it from staring at his chin, “direct my ire to your little replacement, rather than your former friends, just for this once.”

Oh.

He blinks, trying to process what he’s been told. He can choose to kill the new Titan, he can skip this punishment for once without his friends suffering the consequences, he can—

For some reason, his mouth doesn’t move, his voice won’t come out of his throat. He should accept. He should. This isn’t his friend; he owes this kid _nothing._

But—

“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him as well,” a mocking voice behind him startles him out of his thoughts, “is this your way of deluding yourself into thinking you’re a good person?” His Master grabs him by the collar of his shirt, chocking off some of his airflow to cruelly whisper right on his ear; “I am the one showing mercy, Apprentice, not you. You are a pathetic rat groveling at my feet, do you understand?”

Right. His eyes sting, but he can’t be sure he’s crying with how wet his face already is. His Master is right, he could kill the Titans regardless of what Yoongi wants and he wouldn’t be able to stop him. So why isn’t he taking the deal? Is he under some stupid impression that the Titans will know one day, that it will get him points with them?

They will never know. And it wouldn’t matter, it just shows how much of a failure he is that he couldn’t truly protect them.

“Y-yes, Master, I, ah, I understand,” he blinks a few times. Now that he’s answered something he has no excuse for why he hasn’t accepted. He just can’t stop thinking of Jimin’s face twisted in sadness, of Taehyung empty stare the day he left them. He doesn’t… he doesn’t want to hurt them like that again… specially if— if the new Titan makes them happier than he ever could have. “I— I am g-grateful for your mercy, but, ah… I will take the correction myself, please.”

He’s met with a sigh, a show of disappointment he wasn’t expecting. “This is why I don’t show you kindness, Apprentice.”

And then he’s plunged right back into the water.

It’s merciless. He only gets one inhale of air each time he’s brought up. His arms strain against the chains, his legs kick, but no matter how much his body tenses and fights, his Master is stronger, he always is. His head pounds like someone is driving a hammer through his forehead, and there is this horrible sensation of familiar, panicked dizziness, reaching all towards his chest, almost like he’s spinning endlessly out of control. He wishes he would just pass out again, but this is far from the first time they’ve done this, and his Master has learned to time him to uncanny degrees. Every time Yoongi’s vision begins to blur, every time the shivers seem to be overtaking him, he’s held back, and he’s gasping again out of pure instinct, skirting the line of consciousness in the worst possible way.

He wants to plead him to stop, but there is no chance for it. Like in a dream where you can’t scream no matter how hard you try, where you’re running but your body remains stuck in the same place; Yoongi’s desperate panting transforms into cut off sobbing, the moments too fleeting for him to truly cry and scream like he wishes he could. He has no voice, no agency. He has nothing but pain and the knowledge that this is his fault, really. He brought it onto himself.


	4. Hoseok

He should not be doing this. The warning bells are going non-stop on his mind, but nevertheless he’s kept moving. He doesn’t even have the time, really, he should be taking advantage of the few hours of sunset to rest, to be alert for whatever mission he has to do later, but he just _has_ to know.

And it’s not like he usually sleeps very well, anyway.

So Yoongi leaps the familiar path across rooftops, taking advantage of lonely alleyways and the diminishing light, until he reaches the right address. An ordinary looking building, but Yoongi knows it like the palm of his hand, knows that beneath Jimin’s illusion hides the Titans’ Tower.

 _Home_.

Or, well, it used to be.

He sits on the edge of one of the near balconies, so he may look at it from the front, and waits, a myriad of contradicting feelings fighting for control inside of him. It’s stupid, really, he gains nothing but jealousy and hurt from— from meeting this new Titan, and yet…

Like he expected, the front door opens, and two members walk out, no doubt to buy dinner for the rest. Yoongi used to go with Namjoon, because Namjoon liked to walk quietly and look at the sky with him. He never told him how much he enjoyed his company, ~~never had a chance~~ , but… he hopes Namjoon knew, somehow.

Yoongi shakes off the thoughts, the remnants of joy that now only bring out loneliness, and dares to sneak a little forward, so he may look—

Ah, so that’s him.

It’s almost like the universe is laughing at him, somehow, coincidentally, showing him the person he was looking for despite the fact it could have been any two members. A young man he’s never seen before, walking alongside Jungkook with familiarity, like they’ve gotten used to each other’s presence already despite the fact Yoongi knows that he’s still, by all accounts, new.

His throat closes up. It took him a while to get acclimated, to get them to like him. Except— maybe they never liked him? He has enough memories to justify the idea that they did, but for some reason he feels insecure about it, can’t shake off the voice of his Master telling him they only ever saw him as a tool, a means to an end.

Yoongi follows them for a while.

He’s already gotten what he wanted, he should leave, but his heart is entirely unsatiated, so he remains around them as if driven by an addiction. Jungkook is smiling, in a gentle way that Yoongi has rarely ever seen, and he gives the new kid a pat on the back as he quickly enters the crowded restaurant to get their order.

With this new chance of seeing him alone, Yoongi descends through an emergency staircase, careful of keeping his step light, until he touches concrete. He approaches behind some of the near trees, heart racing with the knowledge of how reckless and risky this is.

For a second, he’s reminded of Jimin. The kid almost carries the same energy around him, as if he could light up a room just with a smile, despite the fact his appearance is entirely unassuming, with a black sweatshirt and the hood over his head.

He’s almost forgotten the danger of the situation, leaning forward to get a better look, when the kid turns, a frown on his face as if he’d detected something off.

Before he can process that that is _not_ possible, Yoongi is never detected, _never,_ their eyes find each other’s. He freezes. The kid doesn’t look alarmed, instead he tilts his head to the side as if concerned, and says; “why are you following us?”

Ah, of course, he must not know who he is yet.

He thinks he should get out now, before Jungkook gets back. He doesn’t move.

The kid takes a hesitant step forward. He’s definitely concerned. It has been so long since anyone has looked at him so softly that he feels entranced by it. “You’re… sad,” he keeps talking, with a strange sense of confidence, as if he can just _tell._

He shouldn’t be able to, Yoongi has learned to mask every emotion he has in a completely neutral expression.

But he must see it clear as day, because every word out of his mouth is uncannily accurate. “Lonely. Afraid… not of us, though. Afraid of… hurting? Failing?”

Yoongi takes a step back, finally able to unglue his feet to the place they were in. His mouth has gone dry. “Stop,” he says, embarrassad at how his voice cracks, and despite the fact he’s forbidden to speak to any of them. He’s just never felt this exposed, as if this person, this _stranger,_ has stripped away all of his defenses with a mere glance, every secret he thought was unreachable suddenly in plain sight.

“Hoseok hyung?” he hears Jungkook’s voice further back.

It stirs the necessary urgency in him to move, to hide, quickly.

“Wait—!” The kid stretches out his hand, but he’s too slow. Yoongi merges with the shadows like he’s always done in mere seconds.

“Hyung,” Jungkook grabs the kid’s arm. _Hoseok’s_. He looks amused. “Are you talking to the trees?”

“Someone was there,” Hoseok shakes his head, walks forward a few steps, slightly lost. Yoongi presses himself further away, heart on his mouth. “Needs help.”

“Hyung, for the last time, you need to stop listing what people are feeling to them. You probably scared them.”

Hoseok, funnily enough, looks like he feels guilty. “Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Do you think it was urgent? We can look for them.”

Before Hoseok answers, Yoongi takes a half turn, and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every superhero group needs an empath am i right


	5. Solitary and pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is heavily based on another fic that is also great, except the person suffering there is dick grayson instead of min yoongi :p
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213755
> 
> it also has self harm, and more torture (yep, sorry)

“You’re tired.”

Yoongi straightens his back, correcting his posture in a second just from the observation, as if startled. He’s aware of how dead his eyes look at the moment, saw them himself in the mirror a few minutes ago. He got back in time to sleep about an hour and a half, and barely managed fifteen minutes of shut-eye. The nightmares didn’t leave him alone.

His Master grabs him by his chin, and he feels himself stiffen, making all the effort not to flinch. Weakness like that gets him punished.

But the grip is not forceful. His Master tilts Yoongi’s head to the side gently. “Bad dreams?”

For some reason, he’s reminded of how badly he wants a hug. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Master.”

“Hm,” the hand is dropped, but the look he’s being given doesn’t change. It’s almost fatherly. “Your mind wanders too much, Apprentice. Is this about your little replacement?”

Hoseok. Hoseok who is better than him, who has Jungkook smiling like he hung the stars in mere days, when it took Yoongi weeks to get him to call him ‘hyung.’ Of course they have replaced him. He broke. He failed. He didn’t belong with them in the first place. So they have gotten someone better to do his job for him.

“Yes,” he agrees, because there is no point in lying. “It is.”

“Go back to bed.”

He blinks a few times, surprise no doubt coloring his features. He, hesitant to make eye contact, examines his Master’s expression, but there is no sign of deceit on it, just an amused smile.

“I will cancel our mission.”

It does nothing to explain the behavior. He’s so confused and baffled by it that he croaks out; “why?”

Perhaps, a few months back, such a question would have been considered insubordinate, would have gotten him corrected harshly. Now, his Master doesn’t look bothered at all. They both know he’s not attempting to argue, they both know he will do whatever he says. He belongs to him, and that’s all there is to it.

“You’ve served me well the last few times,” he says. “You haven’t failed an assignment in over three months.”

Hasn’t he? He frowns, bewildered by such a statement, and by the fact that it’s… true. He’s killed all of the targets he’s been asked to. A thought like that would make his stomach churn before, but it doesn’t anymore.

It makes him feel… proud.

“I—” he starts, “but— all of my… failures…”

Why is he arguing against this?

“I understand, Apprentice.” His Master touches him again, this time his arm rests on top of his shoulder. “The Titans have moved on, and it’s affecting you. You’ll move on, too, I’ll make sure you do; you just need time.”

Nausea rises up until it touches the back of his throat.

 _He’s right_ , a little voice whispers in the corner of his mind. And he is. Why else would Seokjin shoot him? Why would they add a new member to the team after so long without changes?

He thinks of the way he looked like in the mirror earlier, as if joy was a foreign emotion to him. It’s not, though, because, despite how much the old him would hate to admit it, his Master’s kindness is making him feel _happy_ , and he doesn’t think he has the strength to push the feeling away. It’s not worth it, anyway. It won’t change anything.

So, he answers; “thank you, Master,” and means it. “But… could I ask for something, please?”

A grunt of acknowledgement.

“Can we spar, instead?”

His Master cocks his head, examining him with a certain glint of curiosity, and then his smirk grows with understanding. He knows what Yoongi is doing, what he’s after.

He nods.

He knows Yoongi needs something to hit, or, perhaps, something to hit _him_.

One would think after so many punishments he would be glad to take soft covers instead of bruises, but it has worked in the opposite manner. Pain means he’s being _fixed;_ it means release from whatever anxiety he was carrying from having made a mistake. ~~It means he’s getting what he deserves for failing his friends~~.

One time, when he couldn’t sleep, he scratched at his arm until it started bleeding. His Master found the scar the next morning, and dragged him to the familiar sight of a metal door, a bare room with no windows, with only a sink, a bucket on the floor. Yoongi knows that room well, _too_ well, because this is the place his Master used to break him, to get him to use his proper title. He remembers begging at him, telling him to _please, don’t leave me here, I won’t do it ever again, I swear._

And his Master had just said, “your pain belongs to me, Apprentice,” and plunged him into nothingness.

He thought it wouldn’t be so bad that time, because he had grown past half baked apologies, but by the time three hours had passed his panic had already gotten the better of him. It felt like he was visiting his own grave, because _this_ … this is where he had died. Where all of the backtalk and resistance started deteriorating. Hours of pure silence, of hunger and of feeling like his body was both too constricting and had no borders, and even the breaking of that sensation, when his Master opened the door, was torture _._ The light, so bright, and his voice that sounded like broken glass grating on his ears.

It was hard to imagine he’d ever looked at that door as an ordinary place, before he had any idea, when his Master had pushed him forward roughly and Yoongi had had the gall to bark out “where are we going?"

“Quiet,” was the only response.

Once he was shoved inside, Yoongi looked around, eyes narrowing. “What’s this?”

“When I come back,” Slade ignored the question, “I expect an apology, and proper respect. If I deem it appropriate enough, I will let you out.”

“Wait _—_ you’re just going to leave me here?” Yoongi shook his head. “You can’t do that!”

“I can, and I will.” His voice was cold, stern, uncaring. “You have proved yourself incapable of getting the lesson by your own merit. You are consistently childish and disrespectful. I have run out of patience, Apprentice. You will be better, or you will suffer the consequences.”

And then he just slammed the door shut.

At first, Yoongi was skeptical it would even bother him.

He was wrong.

He was so, so wrong.

“Hello, Apprentice.” Slade greeted him, that first time that he had come back for him. Yoongi whimpered and pushed his hands over his ears, overwhelmed by even the minimum stimulus. “Are you ready to apologize?”

Apologize. Right. For disrespect. That is why he was there. How long had he been there?

Still, his pride rebelled. No. He wasn’t. He would never apologize to this man, to this monster that threatened the lives of his friends.

Slade made a sound of displeasure, and said; “I’ll see you later, then.”

Yoongi sang to himself while he was gone, but eventually that too started hurting. He tried to keep his mind occupied, but it got to the point of wandering to the Titans. Would they forgive him, if he gave in?

He didn’t think he could take it for much longer.

Hyung would be so disappointed.

The door opened.

“How about now?”

Yoongi had trouble even getting his voice to cooperate. “I’m sorry,” he managed to croak out.

Slade hummed. “Not nearly good enough.”

Yoongi’s head snapped up just in time to see him close it again. “Wait—!” he protested, but it was too late. There was no response.

He tried to keep track of time, but he lost count after ten hours. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would let him escape the void.

It didn’t end.

It didn’t end.

It didn’t end.

Again, Slade came back, his silhouette a blurry haze against the now so, so unfamiliar light.

“Please,” Yoongi immediately gasped, eyes shooting up, forcing himself to look despite how much it hurt his pupils.

“Have something to say?”

He made an effort to stand up, uncaring of how his legs ached. “I’m sorry. I was disrespectful. I won’t do it again. Please, let me out, Slade. Please.”

Slade didn’t say anything. Yoongi’s heart was all the way up his mouth, and the silence made him panic. No— No, no nonono don't leave again—

“Please,” he repeated, pride be damned. “I promise— I will be better; I won’t talk like before. Please, let me out, I’m so sorry, fuck, I’m— really sorry.”

Slade almost seemed to be smiling. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting?”

Yoongi went still, as he understood what he wanted from him. The title he demanded, but had never enforced before. No— He couldn’t do that; he couldn’t betray his friends like that—

But—

The hesitation was enough. Slade said, “goodbye, Apprentice,” and left.

Yoongi cried out until he couldn’t hear his own voice, a futile attempt to drown out the thoughts, so intrusive and real they could be hallucinations, brought about by pure sensory deprivation. His friends, mocking him, telling him he’d failed, he was weak, he’d let them down. He was sorry, he was so, so sorry…

“Hello, Apprentice. You don’t look so good.”

“ _Master_ ,” Yoongi breathed out, with borderline relief, no longer giving a shit. “I’m so, sorry, Master.”

“That’s a good boy.”

The second time, when his Master was angry that he had hurt himself on purpose ( _his pain belongs to his Master, his pain belongs to his Master_ …), he was only there once.

But it was still agony.

He’s learned his lessons by now. He wants pain, so he has to ask his Master for it.

Thankfully, he seems willing to give it to him.

He’s a good teacher, surprisingly enough. Every sparring session he’s able to detect all of his weaknesses. Yoongi never even knew to what extent he could use his energy bending to shield himself from small blows during a fight. His Master is responsible for having made him so deadly and precise.

His Master is thorough. Helpful. Detail-focused and incredibly observant.

Yoongi, also, never knew how good he could be at this. But he is. He knows, because every few seconds, every moment they’re pausing, his Master is smiling and analyzing his form. He’s proud. Of course he is. Yoongi is his creation, his piece of art.

Tonight, they spar until all of his muscles burn, until the need to cry is buried so deep inside of him he has gone numb, until Hoseok is the last thing on his mind.


End file.
